Page 10 of The Duke’s Christmas Rejection

Gripping my hands into fists, I exit the foyer, storming over to where I know the servants are eating their supper. The moment I appear in the doorframe, they stop their mindless chatting and gasp before standing and bowing. Melissa gazes up at me from underneath her lashes, a knowing grin teasing the edges of her mouth.

“Your Grace,” the housekeeper exclaims, fluttering into the room. “I did not expect for you to be here. If there is a need, allow me to fill it. You should not be conversing with the servants.”

I pin her with an exacting glare, raising my eyebrow for full effect. “Are you now lecturing me on what I can and cannot do inside my ancestral home?”

“No, Your Grace,” she babbles, bowing once more before. “Nothing of the sort. I am merely pointing out that you do not have to demean yourself by being here.”

“And I can assure you, housekeeper, that I am very well aware of what would be demeaning. This is not it. I require the presence of…” I trail my gaze around the room, playing at choosing between the wide-eyed faces. “Her. The ladies require a maid for their next round of games, and I offered to choose one for them.”

“Very good, Your Grace. Melissa, you are excused. I will have one of the other girls see to your duties.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Richardson. I shall endeavor to be back posthaste.”

“You will take as long as your presence is required. No more and no less,” the housekeeper replies, her lips set into a stern frown.

Stifling a chuckle, I watch as Melissa’s eyes dilate, revealing just how much she craves an acerbic tone. I crook my finger at her, my balls clenching as she saunters forward, her hips rolling. Tonight, though beta that she may be, she will be the one to drown out my anger and frustration, my impotent rage at not being able to claim the omega with flaxen hair and piercing green eyes.

Once we are far enough away, safe from prying eyes, I shove Melissa against the wall, nearly groaning at her gasp of pleasure from the blow. “You are to go into the library. I want you to prepare yourself for me. Stroke that cunt of yours like the woman of easy virtue you are. I will be there anon.”

Stepping back into the ballroom, I glance about, seeking out the maddening vixen, but she is nowhere to be found. No doubt my refusal was far too much for her to handle, confirming once more that I have made the prudent choice. Resting my hand on my heart, I rub it for a moment, wishing I wasn’t right.

Not wanting to attract attention to my whereabouts, I join in a dance, throwing my head back and laughing with the rest of them, making merry despite Penelope’s cruel gaze every time I catch her eye. She will just have to make herself content. She is not the madame matchmaker she purports to be.

Resigning myself to one more dance, I meet up with my sister, stifling the urge to roll my eyes as she grips my hand with such strength and violence. “I do believe you might need a revisit from the dance instructor. The way you use your hand is most inappropriate.”

“Inappropriate?” she snaps out in a harsh whisper, squeezing her hand even tighter. “What about what you did to poor Cynthia?”

“What do you claim I did to her? Have I harmed her person somehow? Or were you perhaps watching someone else?”

“You must have done something. You spoke to her, and the next thing I know, she’s no longer the jolly friend I’ve come to love but instead a shell, crushed and hurt. What did you say, brother?”

We pause as our steps drag us apart, only to come back once more. “I simply told her that I am to be engaged elsewhere and for her to enjoy the party. And as you see, Redleigh more than obliged in taking the next dance. So no harm seems to have been done.”

“Brother, please reconsider. Cynthia has feelings for you.”

Peering down into her wide blue eyes, I sigh and twirl her around. “That may be but know full well that I cannot make such a momentous decision based solely on the feelings of another.”

“But that one dance. Couldn’t you have-”

“No, Pen,” I interrupt. “To do more would have made things worse. It would have been me toying with her affections, allowing her to continue this infatuation when all it would do would lead to more heartache for her. Best allow her one miserable night than months of fractious agony.”

She sighs and pulls away from me, curtsying as the dance ends. I can see the hurt in her eyes, the reproach. Has Miss Cynthia been holding a torch for me far longer than I realized? No matter, what’s done is done. Nodding my head, I extricate myself from the group and make my way toward the library.

Now, more than ever, I need to get my frustrations out before it forces me to do something that cannot be undone. I need to turn my mind toward Melissa and off of the haunting image of Miss Cynthia on her knees, mouth opened, just waiting for my cock.

Would her slick flow for me? Would she wait with bated breath as I slid my tip inside, smearing my essence across her tongue? Knowing her, she’d take my cock with a sigh of thanks across her lips, but then, any woman could do that. It takes someone special to take my cock up their arse and my tawse across their backside.

Chapter 7

Cynthia

A thick, honeyed scent fills the room as I lurk in the shadows, watching the maid upon the desk. She cannot see me where I’m at, but I have the perfect vantage point to watch everything she’s doing. Truthfully, I’m grateful for the distraction. One can only cry so much before it gives them a headache.

Instead of sniffling in self-loathing, I watch, dumbstruck, as she sits down on top of the desk and leans back, spreading her thighs wide. Nothing resides under her skirt in the way of drawers, so I am able to see every inch of her. Thick hair surrounds her sex, far darker than mine—not that I spend much time studying my own anatomy.

That part, however, isn’t what intrigues me so. She dips her fingers down, sliding them over her glistening slit before parting the folds at the juncture of her thighs, showing me a part of a woman I have never seen before. Is that what mine looks like?

My cheeks burn as the desire to touch myself in that very same fashion fills my body, tightening my nipples. I can hardly breathe as she grazes the top of her opening with her fingers. Her moans pour out, twisting my insides in an odd fashion.